


Ronon's First Christmas

by Greyias



Category: Stargate Atlantis
Genre: Abandoned Work - Unfinished and Discontinued, Christmas, Gen, Gift Fic, Humor
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2008-12-03
Updated: 2008-12-04
Packaged: 2018-10-14 05:56:39
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 3,844
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10530312
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Greyias/pseuds/Greyias
Summary: Something was going on in Atlantis.Ronon had felt the change in the air, in the attitude in several of the Expedition members for several weeks now... but he had thought nothing of it. At least, he hadn't until just now.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Written as part of an advent calendar fic writing I was trying out in 2008. 
> 
> Written for twits1217 for the prompt:  
> SGA; Gen; Lorne, Radek, and Ronon; Only because he had memorized everything he could about each person on Atlantis did Ronon realize the man walking toward him in the red suit with white trim was Major Lorne. "Have you been a good boy this year, young man?"

Something was going on in Atlantis.  
  
Ronon had felt the change in the air, in the attitude in several of the Expedition members for several weeks now... but he had thought nothing of it. At least, he hadn't until just now. In fact, the day had started normal, and he had noticed nothing untoward during his and Sheppard's morning run—but as the day wore on, things began to change. A mixture of dead leaves and shrubbery started to accumulate on the walls, and it was soon joined by bright colored decorations. He thought he had even seen one of the potted plants dressed up in a strange, garish mix of colors and lights.  
  
Different as it was, it probably wasn't something to be concerned about. He hadn't been on Atlantis that long, it was inevitable that they would vary from their routine eventually. Besides, as his now rumbling stomach was reminding him, it was just about time for lunch, and the mystery of the fancy dead shrubbery could be answered later.  
  
Ronon took the nearest transporter, punched in the location for the mess, emerged, and came to an abrupt stop.  
  
Only because he had memorized everything he could about each person on Atlantis did Ronon realize the man walking toward him in the red suit with white trim was Major Lorne. "Have you been a good boy this year, young man?"  
  
It didn't  _sound_  like it was meant to be an insult or an affront to his status here in the city, but Ronon still had to check the initial urge to lash out. Teyla had warned him months ago that the people of Earth had imported some odd habits when they had migrated to this galaxy. Apparently Ronon had literally just walked into one—that, or Lorne had taken one hits too many this morning in the gym.  
  
Ronon eyed the major, letting the ridiculous question linger in the air.  
  
"Er, that was a joke, Ronon."  
  
The white fur trim stood in stark contrast with the deep red, the major's normally fit body seemed to fill the suit until it was almost bursting, and he wasn't sure exactly who Lorne was trying to fool with the scraggly white hairs pasted onto his chin. For the life of him, Ronon couldn't figure out  _what_  all of it was supposed to represent.  
  
"I was kidding," Lorne said again, but Ronon ignored him and strode on by.  
  
He could have asked for an explanation for the odd getup, but he wasn't ready to trust the reasoning of someone who would willingly dress like that and subject themselves to public scrutiny.  
  
When Teyla had tried to tell him about the odd habits, he had assumed that she was talking about their quirky attachment to the "television" and Sheppard's video games. He had not expected something so different, so colorful—Ronon dodged an angrily muttering Zelenka, who was trapped in a mess of wires attached to what looked to be very tiny light bulbs—so... odd, to be blunt.  
  
Thankfully he was almost to the mess. Hopefully it wasn't too late, and he could catch Teyla, or maybe even one of the other Athosians, to see if he could get an explanation for what was going on. Maybe "odd" was too kind of a word. This was just downright strange.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Written as part of an advent calendar fic writing I was trying out in 2008. 
> 
> Written for Leesa Perrie for the prompt:  
> SGA; Gen; Rodney, anyone else; Soft science: Bonus if you can use the fact that Rodney has 2 PhD's and Jackson has 3 somewhere! Jackson does not have to actually appear, unless you want him to.
> 
> Bonus Prompt: SGA; Gen; Rodney, Ronon; Rodney trying to explain Christmas to Ronon...possibly bonding over the food side of things!

Unfortunately, there was no Teyla, Athosian, or any non-Earther to be found when Ronon entered the Mess Hall. He had apparently missed them, along with the big lunch rush, so the cafeteria was nearly deserted. He grabbed a tray and went through the line, thankful that the strangeness spreading through the halls hadn't reached this room yet. At least he would still be able to eat in peace without being asked strange, vaguely insulting questions.  
  
Even though Ronon had been on Atlantis for several months, he still couldn't break the ingrained habit of immediately identifying the setup of a room, so he was already heading toward a table occupied in the far corner of the Mess. At least if he couldn't find some answers there, he would undoubtedly find a little entertainment.  
  
He dropped into the seat without any flourish or intention to disrupt the other occupant, but still earned an annoyed glower nonetheless. "Do you mind?"  
  
"Nope," he said simply, grabbing the bright red Earth fruit that vaguely tasted like the senyuh fruit from Sateda, and tossed it in the air to see if he could get a reaction from his team and tablemate.  
  
McKay did not disappoint, and visibly flinched and leaned further away from Ronon and his flying fruit. "Okay, are you going to play with your food or eat it?"  
  
"Why wouldn't I eat it? I got it, didn't I?"  
  
"Well, I don't know. It was a rhetorical question."  
  
"Isn't that the kind that doesn't have an answer?"  
  
"Well,  _yes_ , that  _is_  the meaning of—wait, was that a joke?"  
  
Ronon was careful to keep his expression neutral. He was starting to learn that McKay didn't really need much ammunition to get wound up. Actually, he didn't need much head start when he felt he wanted to talk about something (which was rather often.) Ronon had also learned that McKay also didn't need much in the way of a conversational rope when he was bound and determined to hang himself. Ronon was curious to which direction this encounter was going to lean toward.  
  
"Why aren't you saying anything?" McKay prompted.  
  
Instead of answering immediately, Ronon took a large bite out of his apple, being sure to chew it several times before casually answering. "Wasn't sure if I was supposed to answer the question."  
  
" _That_  one wasn't a rhetorical."  
  
He finally swallowed the bite. "It wasn't?"  
  
"No, it wasn't," McKay answered sourly, fixing him with a suspicious look. "You  _are_  messing with me, aren't you? And before you ask—not a rhetorical question."  
  
"I might be," Ronon replied, and bit off another large chunk of fruit.  
  
"Figures," McKay grumbled, pointedly turning back to his rapidly diminishing tray of food. "So other than torturing me, what have you been doing for fun today?"  
  
"Walking the halls."  
  
"Really? That's all that takes to entertain you—"  
  
"Something strange is going on."  
  
The forkful of potatoes paused about halfway on its trip to McKay's mouth. "Strange? Strange how?"  
  
"I saw Lorne."  
  
"Oh, yes, I can see how that might be alarming." McKay rolled his eyes and finished shoveling the potatoes into his mouth.  
  
"He was dressed weird."  
  
"He always dresses weird," McKay said around the mouthful of food, although it sounded more like "'e alfae freshes beerd".  
  
"And he asked me if I had been a good man."  
  
The scientist's brow scrunched up in confusion, clearly not expecting that. After a few tries, he swallowed the mouthful of food, almost whole if the painful wince that followed as any indication. "He  _what_?"  
  
"You heard me."  
  
"Why the hell would he ask you that?"  
  
Ronon just stared back at him nonplussed. "Figured you'd know. He was also wearing a really bad fake beard. Not sure who it was supposed to fool."  
  
"A fake beard? Why would he be wearing a—oh," and the confusion melted away into what could not be mistaken for anything but pure annoyance, "oh, God. It's started."  
  
The annoyance wasn't tinged with any sort of panic or concern, which over the past few months Ronon had learned was a Bad Thing, so whatever 'it' was, it probably wasn't something that needed immediate action. "What's started?"  
  
"The madness."  
  
"Madness?" Ronon echoed.  
  
"The  _Christmas_  madness," McKay clarified, and looked at him, as if that was supposed to make perfect sense.  
  
Ronon just stared back, because, no, it didn't.  
  
"You know, Christmas?" McKay waved a hand in the air vaguely. "Peace on Earth, fauna with bioluminescent nostrils, Santa Claus?"  
  
"No, I don't."  
  
"Seriously?" He looked taken aback. " _No one_  warned you about this?"  
  
Maybe Ronon had been hasty in his judgment, because his teammate was clearly vexed over the situation. Apparently the Christmas Madness had some bearing of importance, otherwise it wouldn't be something that he was supposed to have been briefed on.  
  
"What kind of rotten example for a leader in cultural exchange does Sheppard think he is?"  
  
"...what?"  
  
"Oh, for crying out—it's  _Christmas_ , the happiest time of year, except that's a lie because it's the most miserable excuse for a holiday, and it only causes pain, agony, and destruction."  
  
Like a lot of what McKay said, Ronon guessed that statement was supposed to make sense to someone. Of course, like a lot of what McKay said, it rarely ever did to him. "Again—what?"  
  
"Okay, this is probably a bad idea. I think you should ask someone else."  
  
"But you're here."  
  
"My presence doesn't necessarily mean that I'm the best person to enlighten you on all of Earth's stupid traditions."  
  
"But you know a lot."  
  
"Yes, I know hard science-type of things, not this soft science, history crap. Dr. Jackson would do a good job at this, he's got like three or four PhDs in the whole cultural exchange thing. Which is just overkill if you ask me.  _Two_  PhDs is plenty."  
  
"Who's Dr. Jackson?"  
  
"'Who's Dr. Jackson?' What kind of question is—oh, you haven't met him. Right. Anyway, lacking the overcompensating credentials in stupid holiday traditions, I still think this explanation is completely Sheppard's job. He's the leader. And if  _he_  explains it, then Teyla can't blame  _me_  when this all goes to hell."  
  
"He's not here."  
  
"Excellent observation."  
  
"So you should tell me," Ronon said simply. "This Christmas sounds dangerous."  
  
"Well, it's not."  
  
"But you said it caused pain."  
  
"Well, it  _does_ , but most people tend to ignore that for the bright, shiny wrapped presents."  
  
"Presents?"  
  
"Yes, there are presents. I mentioned that, didn't I?"  
  
"No, you mentioned glowing animals."  
  
"That's Rudolph. But it's only his nose that glows."  
  
"Who's Rudolph?"  
  
"The red-nosed reindeer," McKay sighed. "He's one of Santa's lackeys."  
  
"Who's Santa?"  
  
"Seriously, I'm not—" at Ronon's look, he just sighed again, "fine,  _fine_. Santa is a big fat guy in a red suit—"  
  
"You mean Lorne?"  
  
"Lorne's not fat."  
  
"Well, he had the suit. And it was stuffed to make him look fatter."  
  
"That's the point. He's supposed to look like Santa."  
  
"Why?"  
  
"Because—I don't  _know_. You should ask him why he would do something so embarrassing."  
  
"I'd rather not."  
  
"Well, I don't blame you."  
  
Ronon took another large bite of his apple, and leveled a stare at his teammate. "So, who's Santa?"  
  
"Well, I'd  _get_  there if you'd stop interrupting!" McKay gave him a pointed glare, and cleared his throat. "Right, so Santa Claus, big fat guy in a red suit." At Ronon's nod he continued, "Well, he shows up every year and goes into your house. And you leave him milk and cookies and he's supposed to leave presents for all of the kids. Except when he forgets that you specifically requested a chemistry set that year and instead brings you camping gear, because really, who needs a good grasp in science when you can get eaten alive by mosquitoes?"  
  
"So this Santa guy breaks into people's houses every year?" Ronon prompted in order to cut off the inevitable side train conversation about the horrors of camping. He'd already heard that one enough on overnight missions.  
  
"No, he doesn't break in. Everyone expects him to come. Besides, he uses the chimney."  
  
"The chimney," Ronon repeated disbelievingly. If this guy was anywhere near the girth that Lorne was trying to put on, that would be pretty tough. Unless the chimneys on Earth were larger than the ones Ronon had seen around the Pegasus Galaxy. That was always a possibility.  
  
"Yes," McKay continued on impatiently, "he slides down the chimney and comes in through the fireplace."  
  
"While it's still lit?"  
  
"No—no, that'd be stupid. You don't set a fire if someone's coming down your chimney."  
  
"What if it's cold?"  
  
"You grab an extra blanket and turn up the heater!"  
  
Ronon frowned. That seemed pretty inconvenient. "So you don't freeze?"  
  
"No, you're nice and toasty. Heater. Blankets. Everyone's fine."  
  
"But you still just let this guy break into your homes once a year and trust he doesn't take anything?"  
  
"It's not breaking in," McKay insisted, although his vehemence had died down some.  
  
"Then what is it?"  
  
"It's... it's  _Santa Claus_ ," Rodney insisted. "He brings kids presents."  
  
"Why?"  
  
"Because he's just merry and generous like that!"  
  
"Sounds suspicious. I wouldn't trust him with my kids."  
  
"You don't have kids."  
  
"Still wouldn't trust anything coming from some guy sneaking in through a chimney. Why doesn't he just use the door?"  
  
"Because the reindeer and sled look too suspicious to the cops when he lands them in the front yard," McKay said bitterly.  
  
Ronon shook his head, fairly sure that response was laced with more sarcasm than was necessary. How the hell was he supposed to know this? And what was so special about this fat guy that made people forget all of their common sense. "What are reindeer?"  
  
"They're a type of animal."  
  
"Oh." Ronon vaguely remembered a mention of deer a few missions ago, when Sheppard had pointed out one of the local animals resembled a 'white tail buck'. Maybe they were related somehow. "And what are they there for?"  
  
"They pull his sled."  
  
"Up onto the roof?"  
  
"No." McKay buried his face in his hands. "He lands on the roof."  
  
"...what?"  
  
"They're flying reindeer."  
  
The animal on the other planet certainly couldn't fly. "Do they have wings?"  
  
"No."  
  
"Then how can they fly?"  
  
"Because they're  _magical_  flying reindeer," McKay spat. "They can do whatever the hell they want. Include make their noses glow brighter than a fog light at will."  
  
McKay had been right from the start. This  _was_  madness. "So, Santa uses his 'magical' reindeer to go around the world."  
  
"Well, when you say it in that tone of voice it sounds ridiculous," McKay muttered. "But yes, that's the general idea."  
  
"So why doesn't anyone just set traps? Sounds like he wouldn't be a hard guy to catch."  
  
"You don't set  _traps_  for Santa Claus!"  
  
"Why not? He steals your food."  
  
"Look, it's not stealing. You leave the food out for him."  
  
"Why?"  
  
"So he'll leave presents in return."  
  
"I thought you said he did that because he was generous."  
  
"He  _is_."  
  
"Well, he's clearly expecting something in return. And he can't even use the front door, keeping you from lighting a fire to keep your family warm. Sounds like there's something wrong with this guy."  
  
"He's Santa Claus," McKay said again, but with a much weaker insistence.  
  
"Are you  _sure_  he doesn't take anything?"  
  
"Oh, god," McKay mumbled into his palms, "let's talk about some other part of Christmas.  _Please_."  
  
"Okay." Ronon really wasn't sure he wanted to know any more. Nothing about the whole situation made any bit of sense. He silently crunched on his apple as he tried to retrace the conversation back to the beginning, as well as what he had witnessed in the hallway earlier. "You mentioned presents?"  
  
"Yes," that seemed to brighten McKay's mood some. "It's tradition to give all your friends and families gifts each year."  
  
Okay, that didn't sound so bad. "Why?"  
  
"Well, you see there was this lady and a donkey and a star..."  
  


* * *

  
John looked up to see a bright, red-faced Rodney wrangling Ronon into his office. As he looked between the two, John couldn't help but feel a little concerned. Ronon's face was a mix of deep-rooted concern and even deeper confusion, while Rodney looked like he was close to having a stroke.  
  
"Sheppard," he practically spat the name.   
  
"Rodney," he returned cautiously.  
  
"It's  _your_  turn."  
  
"My turn to what?"  
  
Even from across the room, he could see Rodney's eye twitch as he gave a particularly murderous look to the thoroughly confused Satedan. "It's  _your_  turn to explain Christmas to Ronon."


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Written as part of an advent calendar fic writing I was trying out in 2008. 
> 
> Written for TigerKity16 for the prompt:  
> SGA; Gen; John and Rodney; watching old movies

The words and numbers were just starting to blur together when someone cleared their throat, announcing their presence in the doorway. Rodney rubbed his eyes, willing the numbers on his watch to come back into focus. Oh, he'd been at it a while. Thoughts muzzy, he looked up to see a bemused Sheppard leaning in the doorway.  
  
"Missed you at dinner."  
  
"Dinner?" Rodney checked his watch again and winced. "Ah, looks like I did."  
  
Sheppard shrugged, pulling an apple out from where he had been hiding it behind his back and held it up in the air. "Brought you this—although I did consider letting you starve after leaving me with that Christmas mess."  
  
Rodney glowered, but managed—barely—to catch the apple when it was lightly tossed his way. Without a word, he tore off a chunk of the apple, feeling the juices dribble down his chin as he bit into the fruit.  
  
Sheppard made a face, but chose to amble the rest of the way in rather than commenting. "But I think I  _have_  finally managed to convince Ronon that Santa Claus isn't a fat, kleptomaniacal pedophile. It wasn't easy, though."  
  
Taking care to not choke as he swallowed the almost-too-big bite, Rodney shook his head. "I never claimed to be good at the explanation thing."  
  
"Well, it might have helped if you had started with the fact that Santa Claus isn't real."  
  
Rodney simply took another bite, smaller this time. "Knew I forgot something."  
  
"Yeah," Sheppard said. "But hey, he's got  _Santa_  straight now."  
  
Rodney eyed the other man suspiciously, not bothering to swallow the bite of food this time. "Does he?"  
  
"Yep," Sheppard said brightly. A little  _too_  brightly.  
  
"Oh, no, what did you do?"  
  
"I did nothing."   
  
"Uh huh." Rodney rolled his eyes. "Because you're the thoughtful type that loves to bring me food."  
  
"Hey, I brought you a sandwich that one time."  
  
"You mean the time that I was arms deep in an Ancient supercomputer trying to find a way out of the death trap that  _you_  activated? And also with the sandwich that  _I_  had packed for  _myself_ , and was in fact in my backpack only five feet away that I could have easily gotten up and grabbed myself had I not been trying to save us from impending doom?"  
  
"See, you remember."  
  
"What do you want?"  
  
"Fine." Sheppard sighed, shoulders slumping. "I need your help."  
  
"I figured as much," Rodney muttered around the mouthful of apple. "Hence my question."  
  
Sheppard winced. "Geez, Rodney, didn't your mother ever teach you to chew with your mouth closed?"  
  
Rodney might have been thirty-eight years-old, but the urge to stick his tongue out and display how much he cared about proper manners was very strong. A lesser man than him might have caved in to the temptation. A lesser man might also not have realized that Sheppard was trainable, and future delivered meals might still be wrangled if Rodney played his cards right.  
  
"Sorry," he said with exaggerated sarcasm after he swallowed the mouthful. "Now, what was it you wanted?"  
  
"Well," Sheppard said as he studied the oh-so-not-fascinating ceiling work in Rodney's lab, "Ronon may have gotten the unfortunate impression that on Earth we have a bad habit of nailing our socks to a fireplace every winter..."  
  
"Uh, isn't that a little true?"  
  
"Well, he, ah, might also think it has to do with children needing money because of their irresponsible parents."  
  
Rodney blinked. "Come again?"  
  
"Well, he asked me why we did it, and I could only remember the story about the really bad inventor guy with the three daughters and no dowry..."  
  
"Is that all?"  
  
"Uh," Sheppard shifted restlessly, "I also think we should avoid any hallways with both Ronon and mistletoe."  
  
"Do I want to know?"  
  
"No," Sheppard said quickly. "Um, and there's one more thing."  
  
"What twisted explanation did you give him about Christmas trees?" Rodney asked suspiciously. "Please don't tell me you mixed up the old child sacrifice in front of the oak tree in with the burning Yule log in there."  
  
" _What_? No, nothing like that."  
  
"Then why did you feed me?" Rodney asked, discarding the core of the now demolished apple and began to look for something to clean off his sticky fingers. "Not that I'm complaining, but it's not exactly normal."  
  
"Ronon wants to see an angel."  
  
"He wants to  _what_  now?"  
  
"Well, it started with me trying to straighten out  _your_  version of the Nativity story, and it kind of spiraled out of control."  
  
"Was this before or after you somehow managed to convince him something frightening about mistletoe?"  
  
"I don't know," Sheppard said a little desperately, "it all kind of became a blur after Pedophile Santa Claus."  
  
"Not. My. Fault."  
  
"Like it or not, Rodney, you're in this with me. You started this mess."  
  
"No, I didn't. No, I didn't. That was all  _Lorne_ , who for some reason decided he needed to walk the halls dressed as our jolly nemesis."  
  
"Santa Claus isn't our enemy."  
  
"Oh really? What has he done for you lately?"  
  
After a long moment's pause, Sheppard grudgingly admitted, "Point."  
  
Rodney nodded jerkily, finally finding a napkin and began to furiously scrub at his juice-soaked fingers. "This is getting out of hand. I mean, this shouldn't be so hard to explain."  
  
"You're telling me." Sheppard crossed his arms and leaned against one of the work tables. "So what's the plan?"  
  
"Why do I have to come up with a plan?"  
  
"I brought you an apple."  
  
" _And_?"  
  
"It was a fresh one."  
  
"Your logic confuses me."  
  
"Look, we have to fix this. Do you really want to risk running into him and mistletoe at the same time?"  
  
"Okay, what the  _hell_  did you tell him about mistletoe?"  
  
"That doesn't matter—"  
  
"The hell it does—"  
  
"Rodney," Sheppard said quietly, "I need your help."  
  
"Fine," he huffed and crossed his arms. Maybe he  _did_  have a tiny bit of responsibility in this holiday mix-up. It happened to the best of people. (Except Daniel Jackson, the jerk.) "What do you want me to do?"  
  
" _Fix_  this."  
  
"You're like a broken record, you know that?" At the look he got, Rodney threw his hands up in the air. "Yeah, okay, whatever. As much as it pains me to admit, I am apparently not qualified to explain this holiday, and clearly you—you... seriously, what did you tell him about the mistletoe?"  
  
" _McKay_ —focus."  
  
"Fine." Rodney moved from the laptop he'd been working at to his main terminal, and opened up the city's intranet. "Either way, I think we need to bring in an expert to help with our education efforts."  
  
"And who would that be?"  
  
He tapped in several keys, and then indicated the black and white video that flickered into life on the screen. "Hollywood."  
  
Sheppard frowned, and leaned forward as the video rolled through the opening sequence of  _It's a Wonderful Life_. "I don't know..."  
  
"You said he wanted to see an angel," Rodney said pointedly.  
  
Sheppard let out a ragged sigh and shook his head. "Jimmy Stewart, don't fail us now."


End file.
